


Barnacle

by fancywaffles



Series: An Azure Dawn [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blue Lions Route, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancywaffles/pseuds/fancywaffles
Summary: Sylvain and Felix are married, although this is news to Sylvain.(or, this was supposed to be a goof but turned into a long piece of about Sylvain's post-war existential crisis)
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: An Azure Dawn [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654411
Comments: 25
Kudos: 505





	Barnacle

Sylvain squinted his eyes nearly closed, trying to block out the view of Dimitri and Felix hotly debating over the most boring topics in the world. He supposed it was… Felix’s _job_ now, duty as right hand to the king, but part of him missed when they would snipe at each other. The time spent with Felix being angry at Dimitri ended up being longer than the time spent when they were friends, Sylvain wondered if this new friendship would catch up or if something else would snap.

“I really don’t think we can get them to agree to that, Felix. It’s a nice idea but…”

“Don’t give me that, I’m not one of your simpering Lords, you could get them to agree to it, if you’d actually straighten up and stand up to them.”

“I find threatening people to get my way doesn’t really endear me to people,” Dimitri sounded amused, which was not a good thing, because that always just set Felix off.

In what Sylvain couldn’t refer to as the _good ol’ days_ for obvious reasons, it would have ended with a storm off to finish the conversation. Now it was a bridge to a better conversation.

“No, you’d much prefer to leave all of your weak points open so what’s left of House Aegir can get the edge and make the former Empire territories look like they have leverage.”

“It’s not a battle, Felix, giving concessions to appease the superficial is a way to get forward on actual things that matter, like territory disputes within the Hrym border.”

Felix frowned in the way that meant he was less irritated. “So it’s a feint.”

“If you insist on describing it in those terms, then yes.”

“Can you believe them?” Sylvain asked, rather casually, to his former professor and now Archbishop. It was hard not to be casual, with the Professor (because he couldn’t say ‘Your Grace’ without snorting and couldn’t say Byleth without feeling like he’d get detention, no matter how long it had been) — when she was sprawled on the chais, hands over her huge pregnant stomach (which he deserved a reward for not blurting the the ‘i thought you weren’t due for another three moons’ comment when he saw her).

“I have learned to tune it out.”

“But just—they’re arguing about the finer aspects of political diplomacy like it’s fun — what, why?”

The Professor shrugged and waved generally in their direction, without moving from her prone position. “We married them.”

Sylvain laughed. “I am not married to Felix.”

The Professor turned her head from the ceiling to stare at him, with that unnerving blank stare of hers that seemed to see beyond the skin. “Sure.”

“I’m _not_ married to Felix,” Sylvain said again. “Where would you get that idea?”

“Everyone has that idea,” the Professor said.

“ _Felix_ ,” Dimitri said, hotly, voice traveling enough to draw Sylvain’s focus again, “I do not think challenging Count Bergliez to a duel is going to solve the issue of Gronder land claims.”

“How will you know until you try it?” Felix said, in that way that sometimes even Sylvain can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Wait, even Sylvain? Why would he know better… they _weren’t_ married.

“That’s what I said,” the Professor chimed in.

“No, I believe, beloved, you offered to punch him in the face,” Dimitri responded.

“And the offer still stands, darling,” the Professor added, which was joined soon by Felix’s responding snort, and him looking smugly at Dimitri.

“Yes,” Dimitri said, shaking his head. “I am sure that the head of the Church attacking Count Bergliez would go over even better.”

“Glad you finally agree,” the Professor said.

That made Felix actually laugh. One short, actual laugh, that brightened up his entire stupid face. Sylvain was not jealous. 

Dimitri sighed and made eye contact with Sylvain for commiseration. The king’s gaze was frustrated and fond, as if also to say, ‘we married them’ — and Sylvain reacted, by pushing the panic into his stomach for later and clapping his hands together. “Well,” he said. “Why don’t we talk about literally anything else?”

“Ashe’s sister has decided to attend the Officer’s Academy?” Dimitri offered as a topic.

That sounded… incredibly dull, but better than rehashing Fódlan land disputes. “That’s great. Which house?”

“We disbanded the houses,” the Professor said. “Instead we’re offering a more unified structure, closer to what the Royal School of Sorcery does.”

“No more Blue Lions?” Sylvain felt a little sad at that, although he could see having houses based on the Empire and Alliance, which no longer existed, being a bit against the message of a united Fódlan.

“We were the last ones,” Dimitri said. It was hard to tell if he sounded nostalgic or depressed about it.

“Did you get rid of the noble/commoner dorm division too?” Sylvain asked. It was pure torture having to listen to Lorenz in the hall trying to find his next crest-bearing noble wife, when he could’ve been downstairs listening to Dedue and Ashe talking about their next great cooking experiment or something equally adorable and benign.

“Of course,” the Professor said, “though I still can’t convince Seteth to expand the training yard into the gazebo.”

“He’s always been myopic,” Felix said in disgruntled agreement.

Dimitri tried giving Sylvain another one of those commiserating looks, but Sylvain side stepped it metaphorically by literally walking backwards. “Why don’t I see what’s taking so long with that tea. Can’t … have my father finding out I didn’t host our royal guests to the utmost maximum of comfort House Gautier has to offer.”

* * *

“What is wrong with you?” Felix asked him, after the Professor had retired much earlier than what would normally be expected and the king followed suit.

Usually Sylvain would’ve had a dirty joke at the ready, but he was pretty sure she was just tired of being pregnant, based on the grunting whenever anyone addressed the obvious future bundle of … whatever they ended up producing.

“Hm? I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve been an _excellent_ host.” He’d even made sure they’d had savory dishes for afternoon tea and not just the sweet stuff so Felix would get to eat something. He probably could’ve served Dimitri the cloth napkins.

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” Felix said. “More than normal,” he added.

“This is a very charming way to talk to your friend who you haven’t seen in months.” Sylvain realized maybe that was why he was so irritated that Dimitri and Felix were getting along, they saw each other a lot more frequently at the castle, so shouldn’t a little bit more attention be paid to Sylvain, who got to see them so much less.

“When has anyone ever called me charming?” Felix didn't even sound upset about it, it was like saying he wasn’t an expert in healing magic. Charm was a thing he just didn’t give a shit about, so never learned.

Sylvain barely fought the smile. “That’s part of your charm.”

“You’re an idiot,” Felix said and rubbed his forehead. “What happened with Sreng?”

Sylvain remembered their last letter mentioning the tentative peaceful attempt at meeting Sylvain had kindly talked his father into and the man had ruined immediately, and shrugged. “Went better than expected.”

Sylvain hated being the future Margrave, but every time he tried _being the future Margrave,_ the current one would make him want to skip right back into being a useless layabout. It was a lot easier that way.

He felt bad thinking it, but he was glad his parents weren’t here. He’d have to deal with the over the top sucking up they’d throw at Dimitri and the Professor . More than once he’d wandered into Fraldarius territory to escape it all, but Felix had been there less and less often with how much transition and movement had been happening in Fódlan now that the post-war skirmishes were finally settled down.

He missed skirmishes. He missed the Academy. He missed not being _here_.

“I tried throwing the Lance of Ruin into the lake; did you know that stupid thing floats?”

“You could tie rocks to it,” Felix suggested.

Sylvain wanted to grab his face and kiss him for the suggestion and then remembered the Professor's comment and stretched his arms over his head instead. “I will keep that in mind. So, how’s life as the King’s Right Hand Man, treating you?”

Felix shrugged. “It’s fine. He acts like a lost dog when Dedue or Byleth aren’t there, but it’s not hard to get him buried in paperwork if he’s annoying me.”

“A romantic you are.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “It’s better than being at home all the time. Everyone expects me to do things the way my father would’ve done.”

“They’ll adjust,” Sylvain said. He knew the emptiness of the estate dragged on Felix, it was one of the reasons other than escaping Gautier, Sylvain visited so often. “You could… get married,” Sylvain said. “You know, fill the halls with bouncing angry babies who want to spar all the time? That would distract them.”

“That sounds like your kind of solution,” Felix said.

“Angry bouncing babies _would_ distract my father,” Sylvain agreed. Not to mention please his long-suffering mother. “But how would I find enough to fill the halls?”

“Track down your old conquests and see what slipped through.”

It was so brutal that Sylvain was almost as proud as he was crippled with chest pain. “Felix… warn me before you stab me next time.”

Felix looked far too pleased with himself, that small smirk on his face, better than a grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You’ve grown so cruel while in the King’s service,” Sylvain said.

“You’re bringing that up a lot,” Felix said, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.

Sylvain brought his arms up again, stretched them out to one side and then the other, yawning boredly. “Seems like all you do lately.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Felix narrowed his eyes. Worse than anger, it was a look that meant he was trying to puzzle Sylvain out, which no thank you.

“Of course not,” Sylvain said. “I’m just bored.”

“You could find something useful to do,” Felix suggested. “A new concept for you, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“See,” Sylvain pointed out. “Cruel.” Felix stared at him, unimpressed and not taking the bait. He must’ve grown patience because in their younger years he would’ve just walked in the other direction. “I’m not useful here,” Sylvain admitted. “Everyone seems to be doing something with their lives since we won the war, and I’m…”

Waiting for his father to die.

What a thought. What a concept.

What a horrible person he was for even being a little relieved at picturing the prospect. It wasn’t that he hated his father or wanted him dead. He was fine to Sylvain growing up. The constant pressure of bettering himself and continuing the family line could’ve been a lot worse. It was harder on Miklan and Sylvain knew that, but still wondered if _he_ ’d been born without the crest, the second son, ignored and left to his own devices, if he’d be…accomplished by now. He envied Felix, which was terrible. He knew Felix and Rodrigue had their issues, but he’d never been a horrible father, things had just fallen apart after Glenn—and Felix probably rightfully envied Sylvain for having an alive father.

But the lack of pressure… the lack of expectation… the ability to do whatever he wanted.

“You ever think what we’d do if we lost?” Sylvain asked.

Felix looked confused. “Die?”

“Well… yes, but other than that. You know, Dimitri surrenders or something,” he laughed at the idea the same time that Felix let out a dry scoff. “What would you be doing if you couldn’t be Duke Fraldarius or at the king’s side.”

Felix shrugged, so sure of himself. “Probably go South, become a sell sword.”

“Think I could do that?”

“In this weird fiction you’re pitching or now?” Felix asked.

Sylvain almost sincerely answered him, but then thought better of it. “You’d leave me? You’d go be a lonely mercenary by yourself and leave me to be held captive? Felix, I thought we were friends.”

“You don’t have to stay here,” Felix said. “There’s plenty of other places to go.”

Sylvain realized, Felix’s quick answer of becoming a wandering mercenary, might have been because he’d legitimately thought of doing it. He laughed, mostly at himself. “Right. I am a brilliant, talented young man with unlimited potential if only I’d apply myself.”

“I have never said that.” Felix crossed his arms over his chest. He was sussing Sylvain out again, goddess did he _hate_ that.

“You all decided what you wanted to do,” Sylvain said, feeling incredibly, irritatingly vulnerable. “Did you have a secret meeting I wasn’t invited to?”

They were all friends, the last of the Blue Lions, but he heard more about half of them secondhand, then he actually saw of them.

Felix stared at him, he didn’t actually say anything, but gestured with his head and then walked away. The actual invitation, subtle and non-verbal though it was, was more than Sylvain usually got so he was already following before he made the decision to.

They walked outside, the sun still hadn’t set, it was floating on the horizon, starting to make its dip past the mountains. “You’re not going to make me fight you are you?”

“Do you want to fight me?” Felix asked.

“Not with a stomach full of that bitter shit you call tea,” Sylvain retorted. He stared at the trees that thrived outside the orchard, no one expected them to bear fruit so they grew wildly in every direction until someone had the nerve to trim them down. “I remember when you fell off that fence when we were kids. I thought Glenn was going to _murder_ me for not watching out for you.”

Felix had been trying to follow Dimitri, who’d already climbed it, even then.

Sylvain was not jealous.

“Dimitri asked me if they could name it Glenn,” Felix said, voice pitched low like it was a secret. “Like I ever had any ownership on his memory.”

“Sorry,” Sylvain said. “I didn’t mean to bring up—“

Felix waved him off. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. That’s not a bad memory.”

“You were such a crier,” Sylvain said, slightly encouraged and taking all the lead he could. “Weren’t even that hurt.”

“Shut up,” Felix said. “I was a kid.”

“Did you say yes?” Sylvain asked. “Or did you say something awful like to ask Ingrid?”

Felix didn’t make eye contact with him, which made it very clear. Sylvain let out a long breath like a whistle and shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s coming isn’t it… the herd of kids we’re all having, probably named after everyone gone.”

It was hard for Sylvain to picture having children, even though he knew it was inevitable. He couldn’t imagine what kind of father he could be (if he could even be one), but the idea of naming one of them Miklan felt like a joke. Nah, kids should be named for the future, not the past.

“I’m not,” Felix said. “Everyone else can do whatever the hell they want.”

“Settled for being the cheery uncle who gives all the children knives?” Sylvain asked. Actually… being an uncle seemed perfect. He could smother the kids in attention, play with them, and have zero responsibilities in how they turned out. Maybe that’s what he wanted to do.

“Better than being the uncle who tells them how to climb out someone’s window in the middle of the night without waking them up.”

“I would never,” Sylvain said. “That secret is proprietary.”

He didn't exactly get a laugh out of Felix, but there was a hint of a chuckle in there somewhere. A victory, nonetheless.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Felix said again. Somehow, outside the stuffy confines of the interior of Gautier Estate it felt more plausible.

“Where would I go? Be Dimitri’s left hand man? I could distract him during meetings and schmooze the nobles, it’d be perfect and the whole thing would only fall apart in two weeks.”

“We’re always look for new stablehands,” Felix suggested.

“Ruthless, Felix.”

“I’m taking your lead,” Felix shot back. “You know you could do something else. You’re infuriatingly good at almost anything, people immediately like you until you decide they shouldn’t, and you’ve got friends in every corner of the damned country who’d jump at the chance to help.”

“I was good in school,” Sylvain said. “That’s different — having a natural talent for rudimentary spells doesn’t mean I’m suddenly a mage. And you know people only like me because I’m going to inherit this grand nightmare,” he said gesturing behind him and then in front of him.

He couldn’t argue the third point. Sylvain knew, even if they weren’t close anymore, everyone from school would bend over backwards to help him if he asked — because they were much better people than he was. And the only good thing about him was that he didn’t want to burden them with it.

“Whatever,” Felix said, brushing past him and taking care to knock his shoulder as he did. “Talk to me when you’re not drowning in self-pity.”

“Felix,” Sylvain called after him, but it was half-hearted. He really enjoyed the self-pity. It was his only friend when everyone else left.

* * *

They’d all left in the morning. Felix clearly had been waiting for him to say something, because Sylvain didn’t see them again until the kingdom had a new heir.

It was an official visit, which meant Sylvain was dressed up and sandwiched between a noble lady who was very interested in heirs and babies and oh by the way did you know that I had a daughter that was way too young to be offered up as a bride, but could pop those crest babies out for sure in a couple of years, and by his father, who nodded along.

Sylvain eyed the window, wondering if the ivy trellis was still there. He was still young, he could climb down it and drop the ten feet without breaking his ankles.

“Sylvain?” a familiar voice called, before Sylvain got more than two steps towards it.

“Ashe!” Sylvain said, legitimately thrilled to see someone, anyone who wasn’t the two people behind him. “You look… very knightly,” he added.

Ashe waited a moment, as if weighing the comment for a hidden meaning and then smiled. “Thanks. Is that Margrave Gautier?”

“Nope,” Sylvain said, and wrapped an arm around Ashe leading him into the crowd. “So, head of Gaspard, brilliant knight? You must be raking in the attention of various ladies.”

“It’s good to know somethings never change,” Ashe said with a put-upon sigh. It was too easy.

“Do they call you Sir or Lord now?” Sylvain asked.

“Neither,” Ashe replied quickly, cheeks already starting to stain pink. “You can—it’s just me.”

“Do not be so modest, Sir-Lord,” Sylvain said, the blasphemy of the mixed title felt amazing on his tongue. “I have heard great things about your rule so far of Gaspard territory. I’m sure we’ll all be attending the celebration of _your_ heir’s birth soon.”

Pink to red. Nailed it.

“Sylvain!” Ashe protested. “Could you be serious? I was trying to say hello.”

Sylvain hesitated, but decided to be nice. “It’s good to see you, Ashe,” he said. “I heard your sister is going to the Officer’s Academy?”

At the mention of his sister, Ashe calmed down a bit, though the remnants of the blush were still on his cheeks. “Yes, I’m really proud of her. She really put a lot of effort in.”

It was an incredible act of charity on Sylvain’s part to not mention that Ashe, being a close personal friend with the head of the Church of Serios, therefore the head of the Academy, meant that his sister could run around with her pants off and paint the monastery yellow and would still get in. Knowing Ashe, his sister probably _did_ work her ass off anyway.

“Following in her big brother’s footsteps?” Sylvain said, the words ironically tasted a bit like ashes in his mouth.

“Maybe,” Ashe said with a smile. “I told her she could do whatever she wanted, but even if she doesn’t become a knight, the education is really very valuable.”

Jealousy for a girl he’d never met and couldn’t remember the name of welled up in Sylvain so strongly that he had to drop his arm from Ashe’s shoulder so he didn’t squeeze. Imagine having so much freedom ahead of you that you could attend the Academy and then do anything, with no expectations.

“How are you?” Ashe asked, politely. He was as open and friendly as always, but looked more mature standing there in real actual knightly clothes. The symbol of Blaiddyd embroidered into his blue collar.

“Oh me?” Sylvain said. “Breaking hearts, loafing about, you know the usual.”

The thrill of chasing a girl down only to let her down soon after had faded towards the end of the war, when things got too real to drown them out with anything false. He’d never really had the heart to pick it up again.

“Sounds like you,” Ashe said, critical, but not unfriendly. “I am surprised you’re not serving with Felix. You seemed inseparable the last few months of the war and every time I heard about you from him it was…”

“Wait,” Sylvain said, tapping Ashe’s shoulder to get him to turn towards him. They were deep enough into the crowd now that it would take at least ten minutes for his father to track him down. “ _Felix_ talks about me?”

“Well, yeah,” Ashe said. “Is he not supposed to?”

“No, I mean… I don’t care, but,” Sylvain ran his hand through his hair. “What exactly does he say?”

“I mean… different things,” Ashe hedged. The discomfort on his face was very apparent. “Just updates on you, and Gautier, and you know… what you’re doing.”

“What I’m…doing?” Sylvain repeated the words, they felt very foreign. Almost as foreign as the idea of Felix updating people on him.

“Well, the peace talks with Sreng were a great idea,” Ashe said. “Mercedes thought so too the last time I saw her. It’s … a shame it didn’t go well, but a first step, right?”

The unabashed enthusiasm on Ashe’s face was painful. Sylvain couldn’t crush it with the truth of how fruitless anything he tried was. “Yeah, sure… so have you seen the heir yet?”

“Oh yeah,” Ashe said, smiling. “He’s got a lot more hair than I was expecting. I don’t think we’ll get a good look at him here though, there’s too many people.”

“Yeah this is the not friends but don’t want to cause a diplomatic incident party,” Sylvain said. He was fully aware this was the one _he_ was invited to. So much for the fun uncle.

“You’re staying after though, right?” Ashe asked. “No one’s said anything officially, but I’m sure once it’s quieted down we could all meet up for dinner or something. It’s been so long since we’ve all been in the same place. Dedue even came back from Duscur.”

“With him as the nanny, that kid will never go hungry,” Sylvain said. Or be bullied. A gentle giant, Dedue may have been, he also could kill a man with his fist. Sylvain had seen it.

“He’s not the nanny,” Ashe said with a laugh, as if he took Sylvain seriously. It was nice to be taken seriously, even if it was to think you were dumb.

“Hey what color?” Sylvain asked, realizing after it was out of his mouth that it was a few conversation points too late. “The hair. The baby hair, I mean.”

Ashe was about to answer, when the guests of honor emerged and the crowd surged forward in that direction, which made the current area a bit suffocating. Also Sylvain was no longer quite as anonymous and he could see the Margrave looking out into the crowd for him… if he could see him then … “It was great catching up, buddy,” Sylvain said, slapping Ashe on the shoulder and walking away from the crowd, in an attempt to lose his father and whoever else he had clinging onto him for the opportunity to bear the next Gautier heir.

 _If_ they had a crest.

Sylvain grabbed a full glass of some sort of drink someone had left on a table and drank it down. Then he left toward the blissful silence of the empty hall.

Or he thought was empty.

“Coward,” Felix said, actually startling Sylvain into a yelp.

“Fuck, Felix, are you _actually_ a ghost? Clear your throat or something.” Sylvain breathed out, coming back to himself. “Why exactly am I coward?”

It was always like this. Months apart and then like nothing changed. There was no effort. Sylvain liked that, but he was still a little sore about being ignored.

“You ditched the party,” Felix said, raising an eyebrow.

“Which I think was brave,” Sylvain said. “I had to be pretty quick about it.” He frowned. “Also you’re out here. Why aren’t _you_ celebrating the cherished child?”

Felix shrugged one shoulder. “I might have made a comment about how it was surprising that Dimitri wanted to hold something fragile as an infant since he’s broken a fork with his bare hand before and he spent two days refusing to hold the baby.”

Sylvain laughed, loud and hard. “Oh and you’re still _alive_?”

Felix’s lips curled up. “Birth has weakened her reflexes.”

“It is going to be hard to keep my promise to stick close to you until you die if you keep tempting fate like this.”

Felix frowned at him and there was an awkward silence that usually didn’t stick into the middle of things. Sylvain hated it and tried to immediately fill it. “I’ll come to your funeral. Weep on the casket and talk of all your old lovers.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Felix said. Then he added, “I saw your father in there.”

Sylvain sighed. “What’d he do?”

“Nothing,” Felix said. “He just said hello.”

“You’ve been busy,” Sylvain said, changing the topic from one hot button issue to another. “Not a letter, not a visit, must be hard work trying to get the Professor to kill you.”

“I didn’t really want to hear your whining,” Felix said.

“To hell with you, Felix,” Sylvain replied. “I wasn’t whining. I was stating facts.”

“You’re stuck,” Felix said. “You’ve been stuck since the war ended and there was no easy place for you to slip into. It’s like when we were kids, you have an endless amount of choices so you don’t see any of them.”

“That’s not fair,” Sylvain said. “You—not everyone thinks of me like that. I’m… surprised you do, actually.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we are married.”

“What?” Felix asked and Sylvain realized he said it out loud.

“It was… a joke the Professor made last time you came to visit.” It had to be a joke.

Felix stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

“You and Dimitri were being annoying,” Sylvain said. “And she said that… you know we married you, picked you or whatever, like we had to deal with it.”

“Oh,” Felix said. He looked away from Sylvain, staring at a spot in the wall, expressionless.

“I’m leeching off you,” Sylvain said. “That’s it, I have nothing to do, so I’m begging my friend Felix to come play with me at my house, instead of riding lessons or learning arithmetic. It’s just a joke. I’m a joke.”

Felix sighed again. “Sylvain…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, self-pity party not allowed when a real party is going on.” Sylvain hated that he wasn’t looking at him. Hated that he was right about the pity. He paced a little and raked both his hands through his hair, digging his fingers painfully against his scalp. “I tried… okay?”

It was the worst place in the world for it all to tumble out, but it was Felix and he wasn’t looking at him and Sylvain couldn’t help it. “I tried to do what everyone else was doing and … make it better, make House Gautier better and my parents were thrilled I was stepping up, but then… it all went nowhere. The real Margrave insisted on doing things himself, he has the charm of a bullfrog that’s where Miklan got it from I’m sure, and the Sreng border has gotten _worse_. Ingrid and Ashe are knights, Annette’s teaching, Mercedes is literally helping orphans, and Dedue is… well I wasn’t keeping track for what he’s doing because I’m an asshole and he’s terrible at letters, but I’m sure he’s doing something important for Duscur-Faerghus relations. And I’m…”

Sylvain laughed, bitter and quiet. “I’m. A. Joke.”

“So the thing you tried the first time failed,” Felix said, unsympathetic. “That’s normal. Get over it and try again.”

“I just poured my heart out to you and that’s your advice?” Sylvain felt a little pissed now. He felt like he’d gotten naked and Felix had laughed. “Get over it?”

“Yes,” Felix said.

“You’re such—you’re so—” Sylvain can’t even think of words good enough, mean enough to use. He wanted to hit him or hit the wall or something. “Argh!”

Felix turned from the wall and pinned Sylvain with a glare. “You were always immediately good the first time you did something and then you stopped trying to do anything so you don’t get that _everyone_ fails. It doesn’t make you a failure. Giving up does.”

“Then, I guess I give up,” Sylvain said, meeting his glare.

Felix scoffed an annoyed breath and turned around, leaving without another word.

* * *

Sylvain, despite himself, did stay after the official gathering. He told his father that he was going to angle a way in with a noble lady he had his eye on, and it was enough that he got a pat on the shoulder and a ‘don’t fuck it up’ look before the Margrave left.

And Ashe was right… it was nice to see everyone again in one place. Minus the fact that no one would let Sylvain hold the damn baby. “Can I call foul on the fact that Dedue and Annette are baby hogs?” Sylvain said.

“We are not,” Annette said, from her position of trying to convince Dedue to let her hold the baby again.

“He’s not… wrong,” Ingrid said. Bless Ingrid, always his favorite.

“I always loved you the most,” Sylvain mouthed at her.

Ingrid rolled her eyes at him. It was so familiar it made his chest tight.

“I wouldn’t mind getting another turn,” Mercedes said, sickeningly sweet. “But I don’t think Ashe or Sylvain have had a chance.”

“Oh, I held him earlier…” Ashe said, “babies are… well they’re nice, but it’s a lot of pressure. So I’m okay if Dedue and Annette want to hog.”

“We’re not _hogging_ ,” Annette said, still angling for the baby again, Dedue was deftly ignoring her.

“Annie,” was all Mercedes had to say before Annette huffed out a “ _fine_ ,” and sat down.

“Dedue,” Sylvain said, in Mercedes’s tone. He caught what Sylvain was doing and and raised one pale eyebrow. It might’ve been the Dedue equivalent of a laugh. “Please. I’m not afraid I’m going to break the baby so you shouldn’t be.”

He saw Dimitri out of the corner of his eye sink down into his seat in a very unkingly fashion. It was incredibly difficult not to laugh.

“The second I’m back up to speed, I’m going to kill you,” the Professor said to Felix, who had been avoiding eye contact with Sylvain all night.

Sylvain was so tired and frustrated and annoyed and, “Let me hold the damn baby!”

There were too many eyes that turned to look at him. Sylvain cleared his throat. “Please?”

Dedue had the nerve to look to Dimitri as if he needed permission and Dimitri, still low in his chair attempting to disappear, nodded and then kept sinking.

“You should sit on a chair,” Dedue said to Sylvain. Sylvain swallowed the retort, because it wasn’t terrible advice, and did so. “Careful with his head,” Dedue added as Sylvain finally got the bundled prince into his arms.

He weighed more than Sylvain was expecting for something so small. The hair, now that he finally got a good look at it, was more of a ruddy brown or dark blond. He was expecting a copy of the Professor or a copy of Dimitri, but the prince managed to look like neither and both at the same time. “He sleeps a lot?” Sylvain asked, quietly, even though the prince hadn’t woken up for more than a second between being transferred back and forth into greedy hands, let alone the last hour or so of conversation.

“Only when we’re not trying to sleep,” the Professor said. She did look… really tired. He prided himself on not saying that out loud.

“Hey,” Sylvain said quietly, just for him and baby Glenn. “Just you know. I’m the fun one.” He lowered his voice even more. “But you got a good deal with the rest of them too.”

He was certain, beyond a doubt, that crest or no crest, future leader of Fódlan or deciding to run off to the circus, this kid was going to be loved aggressively until he hated it. Sylvain wasn’t even jealous.

“Fun one,” Sylvain said, again, reminding baby Glenn who his favorite should be, when Annette blatantly lied and claimed it had been ten minutes so it was her turn again. Sylvain sat on the floor again, once he was baby-free.

It was a nice night (minus the fact that Felix was basically ignoring his existence) and reminded Sylvain of better times, them all together at the Monastery before the war. The nights before and after the Heron Cup, laughing and sharing stories. They all talked enough about themselves that Sylvain didn’t feel pressured to add anything about his own stuff and any time the topic tried to swing in his direction he demanded time with his new best friend baby Glenn.

Everything broke up slowly, like it usually did. Mercedes, who’d gotten there that morning, broke first and excused herself to sleep. Next was the Professor, taking an extremely fussy baby into her arms with a look so incredibly fond that it completely changed her face. Sylvain couldn’t picture the same woman cutting through enemies on the battle field, spraying blood everywhere, being the same as the mother looking at her kid—but at least it confirmed his suspicions about how spoiled he was going to be. After that it wheedled down fairly quickly, Annette left (after a joke about how she was only here for the baby), then Ashe, then Felix and Ingrid, Dedue even retired for the night.

“You’re not going to break the baby, you know,” Sylvain said to Dimitri once they were alone. He couldn’t remember the last time they had been.

“Once the thought got into my head, it was hard to dismiss,” Dimitri said, miserably.

“You’ve never broken a cat or a dog or anything living,” Sylvain said. “So I doubt you’re going to suddenly lose control of your crest and break your kid, intentional or not.”

“Why would it ever be intentional?” Dimitri asked, looking mildly horrified.

“I didn’t mean… you, I meant like, in general with people who break their kids.” Sylvain covered his face with his hands and rubbed hard before dropping them. “Glenn’s a nice name. Though I’m surprised you didn’t go with Jeralt? You saving that for another one.”

Dimitri shook his head. “It came up as a suggestion at one point, but Byleth said that hearing a title before her father’s name made her feel as if he were rolling over in his grave.”

Sylvain leaned back against the wall and stretched his legs against the floor. “I can’t believe you married that. I can’t believe you _bred_ with that.”

“You paint your words like an artist,” Dimitri said.

Sylvain laughed. “You know what I meant.”

“I sometimes do,” Dimitri agreed. He stood up and then sat on the floor, across from Sylvain, “I feel strange towering over you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have had that growth spurt,” Sylvain said, bitterly. He ignored Dimitri’s chuckle and stared up at the ceiling. “Think he’ll have a crest?”

“It’s… likely,” Dimitri said. “Although I don’t think we’re going to test him for it. I’d like to … start a trend of not immediately prioritizing something pointless.”

Sylvain smiled, the image of a fashion spreading through the capital and beyond of parents _not_ giving a shit if their kid was burdened with a crest was pretty great.

“Are you…” Dimitri started and when Sylvain looked down to look at him, he could tell the king was trying to choose his words carefully. “You and Felix seem to be upset. With each other.”

“I’m not upset,” Sylvain lied. “He can be upset all he wants to be. It’s his favorite way to be.”

“That was very convincing,” Dimitri said.

Sylvain grunted and crossed his legs on the floor, leaning his palms next to his hips. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what’s going on with anyone.” He didn’t know what was going on with himself.

“What do you think you’d be doing, if you weren’t you know…” Sylvain lifted one hand to make a broad gesture, “ruling the Kingdom?”

Dimitri looked thoughtful, sad for a second, and then thoughtful again. “I can’t think of anything that doesn’t directly relate to … what I am now. So I suppose, be a knight in service of the Kingdom?

“I can’t picture anything,” Sylvain said. “I keep trying, but even goofing off for the next ten years sounds exhausting.”

“You’re not happy at home,” Dimitri didn’t make it a question. Sylvain kinda loved him for that.

“I miss being useful,” Sylvain said. “I feel like a game piece about to be moved on a board when I’m home.”

“I can relate,” Dimitri said. “You could stay here,” he offered, because of course he would, because the universe wanted to piss Sylvain off by making Felix right.

“I’d be a shitty knight and a bad … whatever else I could do.”

“You’d be better at speaking to people than Felix would be,” Dimitri said. “And me, honestly and also Byleth.”

Sylvain laughed. “I’m gonna tell her you said that.”

“She can’t get upset if it’s true,” Dimitri said, which was a bald lie and he knew it by the way he fought a smile.

“I … appreciate the offer,” Sylvain said. He really did. “But I don’t want to be another barnacle on your hull. I don’t need pity. I got myself into this by doing nothing with my life.”

“You undervalue your contribution to the war effort,” Dimitri said seriously. “You saved our lives countless times in battle.”

“The war’s over,” Sylvain reminded him. He hated that he felt disappointed about it. What kind of person was he?

“It was simpler then,” Dimitri said, as if he could read his thoughts, “in a way. Wasn’t it?”

Sylvain sighed. “Yeah… it was.” He shifted on the floor again and leaned his head over to look at Dimitri. “Do you think Felix and I are married?”

Dimitri shrugged. “Aren’t you?”

“That’s not funny,” Sylvain said.

Dimitri looked apologetic. “I think that Felix and I were close when we were younger, but after … after everything that happened, the only person he really was close to was you. The war only cemented that.”

“He’s close with Ingrid and Annette,” Sylvain countered. “And your wife.”

“Not in the same way,” Dimitri said. “I’m not insinuating anything, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

The Duke of Fraldarius and the future heir to Gautier confirming the end of their houses, yeah Sylvain thought that would go over great. Not that he was… why was he even taking this seriously?

“I don’t want to be a barnacle to him either,” Sylvain said.

Dimitri sighed. “Do you really think Felix wouldn’t have scrapped you off the hull by now if he thought so? It isn’t like him to pretend to be friendly and not immediately retreat or attack if something bothered him.”

That felt true, but why couldn’t Sylvain believe it.

“Also,” Dimitri added, “He’s been kind of a shit since you two started whatever this fight was and I have a newborn, so I’m ordering you to fix it.”

Hearing Dimitri swear was a rare and grand occasion and Sylvain couldn’t help the laugh. “I would if I could…”

“Well, try at least,” Dimitri said.

Sylvain sighed. “Mind if I hide in the palace for another few days?”

“Stay as long as you’d like,” Dimitri said, once again proving Felix right like an asshole, “You and Dedue are the only ones I’ve managed to convince to stop calling me ‘your majesty’ when no one else is around and he has to return to Duscur tomorrow.”

“Felix calls you Dimitri.” Usually not boar anymore, unless he was particularly pissy.

“Felix does whatever he wants and I don’t pretend like I have any control over it,” Dimitri said.

Sylvain laughed again, because what else could he do?

* * *

“Felix,” Sylvain said, finally, after another day and a half of what he refused to admit was sulking.

Felix didn’t turn or respond, and continued what he was doing, which was sharpening his weapon. Why Sylvain thought now and here was the best time and place was beyond him.

“Fe- _lix_ ,” Sylvain said again. “Could you at least look at me?”

“I can,” Felix said, “but I don’t want to.” The scrape of the whetstone against the sword made a noise that crawled up Sylvain’s neck, he was sure Felix was doing it on purpose.

“I’m sorry… for ignoring when you were trying to help… even if your help is like a punch in the dick.”The whetstone didn’t stop its path and Sylvain wanted to set it on fire, but instead continued, with words he hated so very much. “You were right.”

The whetstone stopped. “About?”

Everything, annoyingly so. “Me, trying again. If it’s important to me I should at least give a shit and another shot.”

“Sreng,” Felix said, literally with no question in his voice. Sylvain fucking _hated_ him.

“Yeah,” Sylvain said. “But also… I want to be the fun uncle.”

That got Felix’s attention, he turned to give Sylvain a confused look. “What?”

“I don’t want heirs to continue the Gautier line, I just want to meet everyone else’s kids and smother them with attention and affection until they like me more than their parents.” When they were all younger, he loved showing off and having Dimitri and Felix look up to him. He loved being the nice one and doing everything the opposite of Miklan. It felt great to have someone look up to you for being nice… he didn’t understand why his brother never…

“Fódlan is changing and has to change or else the war was for nothing,” Sylvain said. “And that’s… that’s not acceptable. I don’t know how or what I’d be good at, but I have ideas and I know how to talk to people—” Felix was giving him a look, so he added. “You’re not people, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Shut up,” Sylvain said again. “You said I was good at shit the first time I tried it, so I’m gonna try some new shit.”

“Good,” Felix said, as eloquent as usual.

“I’d like to do that here, if it’s okay with you,” Sylvain said. He’d return to Gautier at some point, but being there and waiting for his father to either finally step down or die was depressing and not conducive to actually giving a shit about anything. And also he really, really wanted to give a shit about things with Felix.

“You don’t need my permission,” Felix said, he sounded irritated. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because we’re married,” Sylvain said and Felix looked at him like he thought he had a head wound. “I meant… I want to get married. I mean… I want—fucking hell Felix,” Sylvain said. “I don’t how the hell to talk to someone that knows this much about me!”

“I don’t—” Felix stuttered out and opened his mouth and then closed it. “ _What_?”

“I’m used to using lines and being charming and that _never works_ on you!” Sylvain threw his hands ups in the air. “How? Tell me, please.”

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?” Felix asked.

“I don’t want to try to do things,” Sylvain said, “If you’re not around to yell at me when I give up.”

There was a long, terrible silence, and then Felix said, “oh.”

“Goddess, I fucking hate you,” Sylvain said. “Get a dictionary and put me out of my misery, please.”

Felix shut his eyes and breathed out. “Sylvain… not everyone needs to have verbal diarrhea to—to express or process.” He opened his eyes and glared at Sylvain. “Give me a fucking second.”

Sylvain counted to one. He resisted the urge to say that it had been a second, and then counted to two. The seconds he counted went slowly and as they increased, so did the lump in his throat.

Finally, Felix put him out of his misery. “Why didn’t you tell me? You tell me _literally_ everything else.”

“I don’t know,” Sylvain said. He found people attractive all the time. He always had, but friends were off limits. If he thought friends were attractive then he’d teeter into oblivion and either jettison a friendship or find it impossible to escape. “I didn’t… I mean I don’t care if it’s anything other than what it’s been.”

Felix was not making eye contact again, but in the lighting of the room, it was clear his face was a little flushed. Sylvain felt a bit more confident that he’d thrown him off slightly. That was more familiar territory.

“I thought…” Felix said, it sounded painful for him, “you didn’t feel that way about… men.”

“Not… all men,” Sylvain said. “Also objectively, women are better made. There’s more to appreciate visually. But… there hasn’t been a lot of appreciation,” he added seeing Felix tense up even more. “Not in a while. And…” A thought was finally occurring to Sylvain, extremely late all things considered. “I have no idea what you like, so don’t feel obligated to … I still find our friendship extremely important whether or not you aren’t blind and find me hot.” Sylvain could not stop once he’d started, “I mean you should, because I am a catch, but I understand if my particular shape of catch isn’t your thing. We should all be happy with our preferences, really, in this new —”

The rest of the sentence didn't come out, mostly because Sylvain choked when Felix roughly grabbed his collar, and then because Felix was kissing him, both of which made it difficult to talk.

 _Oh_. Sylvain thought and then the lizard part of his brain took control and he grabbed the front of Felix’s shirt and used it to simultaneously draw him closer and keep ahold of him as he walked them towards the wall, pressing Felix against it. He took a break for breath and Felix was looking up at him, eyes blown, cheeks ruddy, and breathing hard.

Sylvain was a fucking idiot.

He kissed Felix again, trying to ignore the irritation over the fact that he could have been doing this _ages ago_ if he’d been less stupid. Felix was one solid muscle, small but taut, and when Sylvain got one part of him to move, such as by scraping his teeth against Felix’s neck, the rest of him somehow moved with it. “Fuck,” Felix said, articulate as always. His legs were pressed against Sylvain’s, as Sylvain crowded him against the wall, trying to cover his body with every inch of his own. “Fuck,” Felix said again, followed by very incoherent noises.

Sylvain grinned at him as he realized how much Felix was enjoying this. “Yeah, I think we’re getting there, Felix. Not everyone has to spell it out.”

Felix looked incensed and Sylvain was pretty sure was ready to throttle him for that as his hands lifted in what was definitely a choking motion, but Sylvain grabbed his wrists, kissed him again, and the one taut muscle of his body melted. Okay, Sylvain was definitely going to abuse that trick later.

The idea of later made Sylvain want to hum, as he parted for breath and then kissed Felix again and again. There were too many things Sylvain wanted to do at once, so he settled for the thing he had wanted to do for ages, which was tug Felix’s hair out of its tie and twist his fingers in it. The noise Felix made against him as he pulled, was a good indicator he didn’t mind.

Sylvain pulled again so that Felix’s head tilted back and exposed his fucking perfect neck. Sylvain saw Felix’s pulse skipping against his skin, and leaned in to taste it. Felix made a noise, muffled, like he was about to say ‘Fuck’ again but pridefully stifled it.

That wouldn’t do. Sylvain wanted Felix to be loud and mouthy, to get him to lose control and to finally have the upper hand in _something_. Mainly, he wanted to hear him. He always did. Sylvain stepped slightly back so he wasn’t physically pressing Felix into the wall and felt the noise of disappointment Felix made from his groin to his feet. “I think you’ll like this more,” Sylvain promised, and slid down to his knees, in front of Felix, undoing the laces of his pants.

“Fuck—goddessdamnit, Sylvain,” Felix said, before being completely reduced to a litany of perfect noises, each one better than the last as he came completely undone.

Later, when they’d both given up on the idea of standing, and Sylvain felt completely satisfied in every sense of the word looking at how wrecked Felix was. He hadn’t even needed help himself. “I didn’t know you were so mouthy,” Sylvain said. “I mean, some people are loud, but you are… we’re gonna have to soundproof the next room we do this in.”

“I’m—” Felix said, breathless, “kill you. Smug… asshole.”

Sylvain patted Felix’s thigh. “You know, you were right, I _am_ usually good at everything I do the first time.”

“I hate you,” Felix said, reaching upwards to where he left his sword. “I hate you!”

Sylvain wrapped his arms around Felix’s waist and pulled him back down. He felt light and giddy even. “No, you don’t.”

Felix quelled at that, going still. After a moment he leaned into Sylvain, sighing as Sylvain adjusted so he could more easily slot into place. The fit was far too perfect and somewhere in the back of Sylvain’s mind was his not-lizard brain screaming at him for taking this long to figure that out.

“I’m going to regret asking this,” Sylvain said, after a very long, comfortable silence where he felt Felix’s racing pulse slowly come down. “But, how long have you…?”

“Always,” Felix answered, almost immediately.

“Fuck, I’m stupid,” Sylvain said.

“Yeah,” Felix agreed.

Then after a pause, Felix added, “But I married you.”

Sylvain laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> I was toying with this idea earlier, but it was going to be Felix that didn't realize they were married, then I saw this and I lost an entire day writing, because of course Sylvain not realizing it makes more sense. 
> 
> https://twitter.com/ghostcandies/status/1232879285062365185


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